


Black Russian

by alternis_universo



Category: Big Bang (Band)
Genre: Bar, Bisexual Character, Bisexual Male Character, Bisexuality, Celebrities, Chance Meetings, Clubbing, Co-workers, F/M, Homosexuality, Idols, Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-23
Updated: 2018-09-23
Packaged: 2019-07-16 02:41:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16076669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alternis_universo/pseuds/alternis_universo
Summary: When you work in a club, some nights are more memorable than others. So at times, you need a little bet to make things more interesting.





	Black Russian

Pounding beats molested my eardrums while I washed another glass in the basin in front of me. My eyes lazily scanned the dancing crowd on the other side of the bar. Watching the guests was one of the most fun aspects of my part time job. After several years of working here I was no longer surprised by how ridiculous some people behaved, but it never stopped being funny.

I tapped a beer for the man leaning on the counter with his back towards me. In college bars students would get a drink poured over them for doing that. You showed attention and respect to the bartenders. Unfortunately that etiquette didn't extend into the ‘adult world’. So the only reasonable option was to firmly tap the guy on the shoulder. He turned around, looking as if he'd already forgotten he'd ordered a drink in the first place.

"That'll be €3,50," I shouted over the music. Another difference between college and real life: drinks were much more expensive here. Student bars and clubs were different worlds.

He shook out a handful of coins from his wallet, counted the right amount, and handed them to me. After that he was gone without even a thanks, making a straight beeline for what appeared to be his next female target of tonight.

When I punched the cash drawer open a colleague brushed up against me, his hairy arms tickling my skin.

"On our far left. What do you think: your type or mine?" he mumbled as he threw some coins in the cash drawer. I glanced in his sparkling blue eyes, gave him a grin and shoved the cash drawer closed with my hip.

My eyes wandered to the right side of the gleaming black bar while I leaned against the counter, until I found Mark's target: a young Asian man with fine facial features, frowning at his nearly empty glass of beer. Ornate silver rings gleamed around several of his fingers, and rows of subtle silver earrings lined his ears.

I looked back at Mark. "Do you wanna make a bet out of it?" I smirked.

Mark laughed. "When you look that confident? Hell no."

He wasn't wrong that I was feeling confident about this, but where would be the fun in that?

"Not even for like... €10?" I teased.

He shook his head.

"€5?" I wiggled my eyebrows. "Come on, let's have some fun. I'll take his order and you can bring it to him, and we'll see who he reacts to most."

Mark grinned. "You do realise you're giving me an advantage right? Everyone's happier about the person bringing them their drink."

I raised my eyebrows. "So it should be an easy win for you right?"

His eyes lingered on mine a little longer, then he finally gave in. I quickly redid my ponytail. "Game's on," I winked as I made my way over to the customer, my shoes slightly sticking to the floor tiles covered in dried up sugary drinks.

"Hi!" I greeted the man while leaning down on the bar. "What can I get you?"

His dark eyes shifted from his now empty glass to my eyes. They didn't take a detour passed my breasts, I noticed. Was Mark right?

The black-haired man raised his glass. "Another beer please," he replied with the clear accent of a foreigner. His voice sounded odd, a bit raspy and higher than most men’s, but it somehow fit his appearance.

"Coming right up!" I resorted to some shameless hip sways as I made my way back to Mark, who’d been closely watching the whole ordeal.

"One beer," I told him. Mark got to it and made his way over. I carefully watched their exchange while serving a girl a cola, but Mark’s encounter with the man seemed awfully uneventful. Much like my part of this ploy, actually.

As Mark walked back to me however, I noticed the man's eyes lingering briefly on my co-workers butt. Maybe it went better than I could judge from afar. I raised my eyebrows to Mark, who didn't seem to have noticed anything and just shrugged.

"And?" I asked as soon as he was within hearing range, which wasn't very far in a club. "How'd it go?"

"I didn't get much of a reaction actually." He looked a bit disappointed.

"He checked out your butt though..." I disclosed, even if that meant I'd lose the bet.

Mark raised his eyebrows. "Really? He did with you as well."

Confused, I glanced past him to see if our mystery customer was still there. To my surprise he hadn’t gone back to the dance floor yet. He was simply sitting on a bar chair, staring at his already half-empty glass.

"Maybe he's bi?" I suggested.

Mark shrugged. "How long did he look at my butt?"

I snorted. It was a good thing the music drowned out conversations like these.

"I don't know. Like, 3 seconds or something?" I shrugged.

A frown appeared on Mark’s face. "He looked at you about just as long..." he pouted.

I laughed. "Looks like neither of us has won then. We'll have to trust the tip jar to increase our pay a little tonight."

"He's cute though..." Mark sighed with a glance over his shoulder. I chuckled and pat him on the arm. Frankly, he wasn’t wrong. There was a strange appeal to the man.

Mark shrugged before walking off to help a customer. I looked back at the man, who was watching the club's lights illuminate the displayed liquor bottles on the shelves behind the bar. Although he didn’t seem unapproachable, a solemn air surrounded him that I couldn’t quite pinpoint.

Seeing his empty glass and determined to at least do my job well while pondering over this man’s sexuality, I approached him again. “Is there anything you want?” I gestured to the shelves with bottles he was looking at.

He looked at me for a few near-awkward seconds without replying.

“Do you know how to make a Black Russian?” he eventually asked, pronouncing the ‘R’ in such a way it held the middle between an ‘R’ and an ‘L’.

My mind quickly sorted through my memories of the training I received before I started working here. It was an easy and classic cocktail, but not one frequently ordered in clubs. I nodded.

“I’d like one of those then,” the man said as he handed me his empty beer glass. I dumped it next to the basin and grabbed a short tumbler from the rack above the bar. I threw a glance at my mysterious customer while I scooped some ice blocks in the glass. It didn’t look like he was in a hurry to get back to the dance floor, which was unusual. Instead he followed my moves carefully but without any apparent judgement.

If there’s a right time to ask your customers something, it’s while you’re making their drink. So I decided to take a shot at satisfying my curiosity.

“Are you enjoying yourself tonight?” I asked while grabbing a bottle of Absolut vodka without hurrying.

He looked from my hands up to my face, his eyes a bit wide in surprise about my attempt at a conversation, and nodded. “Yes, yes.” His flat voice lacked enthusiasm though, and the smile on his lips wasn’t matched by his eyes.

I smiled at him. “If you don’t like it you can just say so, I don’t own the place anyway,” I winked as I measured shots of vodka and poured them in the glass, five shots in total.

The man’s eyes grew even wider. It took him a couple of seconds to find the words to reply. “No, uh… The place is nice. I’m just a bit tired.”

I nodded and walked away to grab a bottle of Kahlúa coffee liqueur from a shelf. Drinking liquor wouldn’t make it any easier for him to stay awake, but I wasn’t about to tell that to a paying customer. “Has it been a long day?” I shouted over a particularly loud piece of bubbly pop music.

He nodded.

“Are you here on holiday?” I prompted.

The man shook his head. “Business.”

“What kind of business?” I prompted while pouring two shots of coffee liqueur.

The man quietly looked at me again, and I realised that maybe I was doing something culturally wrong here. “Am I being too direct or nosy?” I asked with a blush, putting down the bottle of liqueur.

A somewhat shy smile broke the seriousness on the man’s face, the first smile I’d seen on him that evening. Instead of looking serious and a bit threatening, he now looked sweet and kind-hearted. It was amazing to see what a change a smile could make.

“It depends on what you’re used to, I suppose,” he answered.

I chuckled. “And according to your standards I’m being too direct?”

He grinned and nodded. “It’s okay though. It just takes me a while to get used to it when I’m abroad.”

“Okay. Well, just let me know when you’re not comfortable with it,” I smiled. “Where are you from anyway?” Only after the words had left my lips I realised that question may had been too direct as well.

The man didn’t seem to mind, however. “Seoul, South-Korea.”

“Wow, that’s far away." My eyebrows rose while I rested my arms on the counter. One of them landed in a puddle of some drink I hadn't noticed before. I suppressed the urge to cringe.

He simply nodded.

“When did you arrive here?”

“Yesterday morning.”

“And you already go clubbing?” I asked in a high voice. “Aren’t you completely jetlagged?”

The man smiled again, showing rows of pearly white teeth, and realisation crept in on me that this man was actually dangerously handsome.

“I got used to it. I travel a lot. So when I visit a place I want to make the most out of it as well.” He pointed to the forgotten glass sitting in front of me, with the bottle of liquor next to it.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” I quickly put the bottle away and looked around for a bar spoon to finish the drink. Where are those things when you need them? While I rummaged through the cupboards and over the counter, I quickly wiped my now slightly sticky arm dry. When I got up the man held a bar spoon between his slender fingers. He unsubtly waved it in front of me while I was still scrambling around.

“Ah, thank you,” I smiled sheepish once I noticed. Several strands of hair had taken the opportunity of me rummaging around to escape from my ponytail. I stroked them behind my ear without thinking about it, gave the drink a quick stir, and bend over to grab a container of cocktail cherries. I plunked one in the drink, and slid the glass towards him.

“Sorry for the wait. That’ll be €9,- please.”

He took a wallet from his pocket and dumped the coins on his hand. He moved them around, flipping them over to see their value and do the maths. I watched him hassle for a few seconds, then leaned in.

“May I help you?”

He smiled shyly and extended his hand. “If you don’t mind.”

I flipped a couple of coins, meanwhile noticing his hands were unusually soft for a man, and counted out the right amount. I showed him, and walked off to the cash drawer after he’d blindly nodded his approval.

To my surprise he was still sitting there when I turned around. Had he not danced at all tonight? I looked at the rest of the bar, but my co-workers got the waiting customers covered. Since my curiosity, and perhaps sliver of attraction, hadn’t been satisfied yet, I sauntered back to my mystery guest.

“Is it good?” I pointed to his Black Russian while giving the counter a quick wipe in case other puddles of liquor were still lying around.

Another sweet smile made the man's face light up. It seemed like the tough guy exterior had started to melt to reveal his softer side.

“Perfect.”

I smiled. It was always nice to have a customer who ordered something other than beer, wine or a soda, and to have someone actually appreciate the work you put into a cocktail. Even if the mix is as simple as this one.

“I like your tattoo.” He pointed to my neck, where a stylized compass tattoo adorned the skin on the back.

My smile widened. “Thank you. It’s important to me. Do you have any tattoos yourself?”

He grinned. “Quite some, yes.”

Excitement took a hold of me. I loved tattoo talk. It took guts to permanently mark your body, and people who took that step often liked to talk about their inks. Somehow it nearly always led to fun or meaningful conversations.

“Where?” I asked, but my words got lost in the music when the DJ played a popular song and the crowd cheered.

The man frowned, looking at my lips in confusion. "Why?" he mouthed.

I shook my head. "No. 'Where.' On your body," I gestured.

I watched with increasing astonishment as he first pointed to his left then right leg, left then right lower arm, left and right upper arm, left and right flank, and left upper pectoral. When I thought he’d finished he turned around, and bends his head. A large tattoo of archangel Michael covered his neck, the bottom disappearing below the collar of his shirt and the wings just slightly wrapping around the side. What appeared to be the first of a series of Latin numbers peeked up next to it.

He turned back to face me again, a smirk on his lips.

“Wow,” I mumbled. “That’s a lot…”

He simply shrugged.

“Can I see your other tattoos as well? Or are they on private places?” I asked, curiosity winning over civility.

Without a second thought he started unbuttoning his sleeves to roll them up. On his for me left arm the words ‘Vita Dolce’ were tattooed, with Keith Haring’s running heart a bit further down. His other arm had ‘Moderato’ on it, with the outline of a simple crown below.

“I’ll keep the others covered up,” he grinned, apologetic on the one hand but teasing on the other. The change in his behaviour compared to before made me smile.

I watched the tattoos a little closer. The words had probably been his first, since they looked most faded and the lines weren’t completely straight in some places. The others were newer, and judging by the quality had cost more. Not to speak of the angel tattoo, which must’ve cost a fortune.

"Do they mean something to you?" I inquired.

“These two together,” he pointed to ‘Vita Dolce’ and ‘Moderato’, “mean ‘living a sweet life of moderation’. I got this one,” he pointed to the Keith Haring tattoo, “to show my support to social activism. Equal rights, for example. The crown represents ambition and power, among some uh... other things.”

He pointed to the Latin numbers. “These are the start of my day of birth. The numbers aren’t completely correct, but I like the number 8,” he shrugged. “The archangel is uh… Too personal. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” I smiled at him. “There’s no need to disclose everything to someone you just met. The angel must’ve hurt though!”

He nodded, his lips parting in a shy grin. “It took two days… But it was totally worth it, to be honest. How about yours?” he pointed to my tattoo, clearly trying to change the subject around.

“I uh, travelled a lot while I was in college,” I started. “And wherever I went, I always felt at home. At first I thought that meant that I didn’t feel at home here, but later I realised that it was because home is wherever I want it to be. You make a place a home, it’s not something that is or isn’t there. So I decided to get this tattoo to remind me of that.”

“That’s a nice thought,” he tapped his head. “I agree with it. So you graduated since, then?”

I nodded. “A couple of years ago. I can’t find a job that’ll satisfy me more than a few months though, so I kind of got stuck working here since the hours are easy and the payment reasonable.”

“How old are you then?”

“26,” I said with a blush. My career so far hadn’t been something to be proud of. I’d hoped to have accomplished more at this age.

He sighed. “Okay, good. I got scared you were older than me for a second.”

“How old are you, then?” I dared asking. A spotlight went over the crowd, brushing the bar in passing. I shielded my eyes with my arm. For a flashing moment the man was illuminated from behind, giving him an ethereal vibe similar to his neck tattoo.

“28," he replied once the light had passed and I was no longer squinting.

I raised my eyebrows. “Really? I would’ve guessed you were younger, to be honest.”

“I guess that’s a good thing?” he chuckled.

“Well-”

My words got stuck in my throat when a hand tucked something in the back pocket from my jeans. I turned around, and watched Mark's back as he walked away towards a waiting customer. A €5-note stuck out from my jeans. I glanced back at Mark, who wasn't paying me any attention, and stuffed the note in my front pocket.

What was that supposed to mean? Did he decide I won the bet after all? The conversation I was having was just friendly though. Not that I'd decline €5,-…

The man watched it happen with sparkling eyes. "Did you win a bet or something?"

How did he know? I blushed and decided to stick with a nod, my fingers nervously fidgeting with the edge of a piece of cloth that lay on the counter.

"I saw you two talking before,” he explained. “You looked secretive. You should've bet for more though. Winning €5,- isn't much, right?"

I tried to keep my blush under control, but to no avail. “It was a friendly bet, just to spice things up a bit. Some of these nights can be pretty dull,” I explained while reaching for the glasses that still had to be washed. Maybe the cool water against my wrists would help me cool down my face.

"Is tonight dull?" he asked with a faint smirk.

"Not anymore," I smiled, feeling a little giddier than I liked to admit.

He laughed, his eyes nearly disappearing from view as he squinted in happiness. It was oddly adorable for a man his age. "Good," he replied when he'd calmed down a little, his eyes still smiling.

“You have a nice smile,” I admitted, even surprising myself with my bluntness.

He chuckled, his cheeks blushing enough to just be noticeable in the dark. "Thank you." His calm but curious eyes observed my face. "What was the bet about?"

My hands faltered in the water. Should I answer truthfully? Was sexuality a touchy subject in South-Korea? I had no clue. I was tempted to lie and safe face, but no good excuses came to mind. We'd been having fun so far though, maybe he could take it? I looked him in the eye. It didn't feel like he'd get angry.

"My co-worker confessed he was gay a while back. So when he sees someone he likes, we sometimes make a bet if the man in question is gay or not. So uh..."

"You made a bet about me?"

I nodded, thankful the dark club hid my deep red blush. For a second we just looked at each other. Then he laughed, throwing his head back.

"You wouldn't be the first, to be honest. But maybe this is a good moment to tell you I saw him take that money from the tip jar..." he smirked.

With raised eyebrows I looked at the jar and back. "Really?"

The man nodded, the grin still on his face.

"That sneaky bastard," I said quasi-insulted. "Don't worry, I'll make him pay for it."

He chuckled. "Go easy on him. He's still practicing his uh, what's it called... Gaydar, right?"

I laughed and nodded.

He glanced at his watch. "Although it's been nice talking to you, I should probably head home. A jetlag and a hangover would be a very bad combination."

I nodded. "And I should probably continue serving other customers."

He raised his now empty glass. "You made me a good Black Russian. Thank you."

I shrugged. "Part of the job. But you're welcome anyway."

He stood up from his bar chair, fixing the buttons of his sleeves. "It was nice meeting you. What's your name, actually?"

"Susan. Yours?"

His eyes trailed off towards the exit. I saw him bite his lip before he turned back again. "Jiyong," he said. Then he walked off, waving his hand in the air once. What an interesting character… I watched him leave, but before long my view got obstructed by a tall blonde woman.

“Can I have a Chardonnay please?” he chirped. I forced myself not to roll my eyes as I poured the nth white wine of that evening.

 

When I arrived at work three days later, Mark was waiting for me at the employee lockers. He held a thin cardboard package in his hands.

"What's that?" I said from afar. "Have you finally found a sugar daddy and is that your letter of resignation?"

He snorted. "Ha ha. No, this is for you actually."

"Is it the €5,- you took from the tip jar to pay for our bet?' I teased as I hung up my coat.

His cheeks turned red. I'd confronted him about it the same night, but other than that I hadn't pushed the subject. Like I'd told Jiyong, it'd been just for fun. There was no need to bother a friend over such a small amount of money.

"It was lying in the mailbox. Just open it," Mark said. "I'm curious what's inside."

So was I, frankly. I ripped the cardboard open at the seam, and slid out the contents. A music album landed on my hand, along with a photo. A familiar face smirked up at me, one lip seductively tucked between his teeth.

"Is that...?" Mark mumbled.

I ignored him, my pounding heartbeat encouraging me to flip the photo over. A short message was written on the back, the straight letters written carefully.

 _I never answered your question about what kind of business I'm in._  
_As you can see, it's the music business._  
_It was nice meeting you, please accept this small token of my appreciation._

_Kwon Jiyong / Jiyong Kwon_

_P.s. you and your co-worker were both right ;)_

I looked the album over. The front was a simple dark grey, with five horizontal light grey lines in the middle. The back said BIGBANG, with the word MADE and the track list below it. None of it rang a bell.

Mark was already furiously typing away on his phone. He held the screen up to me. Tons of pictures from a familiar face of a person named G-Dragon filled it. I took the phone from Mark’s hand and Googled the name Big Bang.

"Holy shit... They're famous!" I breathed upon seeing the records and YouTube videos that popped up.

Mark met my gaze. "D-Did you meet a celebrity without knowing it?" he asked.

I looked back at him with big eyes. "I think so...?" Other than that my mind stayed completely blank.

Mark burst out in nervous laughter. "No wonder he was so good looking." But nice as well, I added mentally.

I reread the message for the fifth time. My eyes stuck on the last line.

"You and your co-worker were both right,” I read out loud to myself. "Does he mean the bet?" I ask slowly.

Mark shrugged. Then a grin appeared on his face. "You'd better pay me back €2,50!" he laughed.

I slapped his arm, holding the album and photo close to me. "You didn't even truly pay it to me to start with. Now help me find a CD-player to play this on.”

**Author's Note:**

> Some of Jiyong's tattoos were left out for story line purposes.


End file.
